After Camlann
by Juliana Brandagamba
Summary: [COMPLETE BUT UNSTEADY] An additional ending to Ganieda, in which Merlin surveys the battlefield before returning to the city that he can no longer truly call home.
1. Battlefield

**This is the finale to the trilogy that began with _Her Insatiable Thirst_ and continued with _Ganieda_. This story will describe the journey made by Merlin as he returns to Camelot, having seen King Arthur perish and sent him over to Avalon, in the fleeting hope that he might rise once again. We join the tale after the terrible battle of Camlann.**

* * *

A dry breeze rattled across the dull desolate plain, its howls echoing the mourning that sprang from the lips of those lonely people who wandered haphazardly among the bodies of the dead. Oftentimes they would turn over a corpse, and uncover the face of one whom they had known; and the image was imprinted upon their mind, such that they did not need to record the name of the unlucky fellow: and they took back to Camelot the names of those lost, that they might be written down and looked upon and remembered.

They had begun to bury them: the men of Camelot had been taken back to the citadel clad in those scarlet robes that resembled spilt blood, and given the burial that befit each of them; the enemies had been tossed in a mass grave, for they had been deemed unworthy of anything greater; yet though the searchers had toiled long and hard at this devastating task, still the battlefield was strewn with the terrible effects of battle. The war had ended, but not at no cost.

There were women among the searchers, wives and sisters and daughters and mothers, and they wailed upon finding the corses of those whom they had loved and lost; this sorry sound mingled with the wind, and created an unearthly noise like that of spirits moaning. It was terrible to behold, terrible to hear, and as Merlin stepped onto the field he had never wanted to see again he began to wish he had not come.

He did not know quite how his footsteps had brought him here; he wondered what his purpose was, whether he had been led; but no, he had merely seen no other path to follow. If he was to return to Camelot, he should at least do so with some knowledge of the aftermath of the battle that had so devastated the people of the city. And he looked upon it, and he could not even weep, for he had spilt all of his tears already for his King whom he had seen perish, and sent to Avalon in the near-futile hope that he might one day see him again.

He descended unnoticed onto the plain of Camlann, and began to scour the field with blurred unseeing eyes. Here and there he recognised his friends among the citizens of Camelot, but did not greet them, nor allow them to see him: for though he cast no spell of invisibility or disguise, he had drawn his brown jacket close about himself, and at any rate he was much changed in appearance in his grief.

For a long while he stood shakily on the edge of the plain; and he did not think anybody had seen him, and so was much surprised when a voice beside him murmured his name, and he turned to see the musician Juliana, the last person he had expected to find here. She who was Court Musician at Camelot, and a stubborn critic of war; she who had scorned those who went to fight, and had determined not to come, now present here on the field, with a blank face, and reduced by some grief or guilt that Merlin could not decipher.

'Juliana,' he said, turning to her reluctantly.

'You have returned,' she said simply. 'Many did not think you would.'

'I did not mean to,' he replied, 'but I had nowhere else to go but Camelot.'

'You are alone,' she said then, and tears began to flood the corners of her eyes, for she knew that Merlin had been with Arthur to try to heal him, and that by his absence the King brought to Camelot the worst possible news.

'Alas,' said Merlin once, and turned away.

There was a long silence then, broken only by those ululating cries on the breeze that came to them in fragments as the wind tumbled over rock and stone. Musician and servant stood, not facing each other; Merlin was still not reassured by her presence, even though she was a friend, for surely she was here only for some reason that he did not like to guess at.

'Merlin,' said Juliana at last, and clasped his hand. 'Merlin, I do not like to do this, but I must. Come, follow me. I must show you –'

He let her lead him over the field, and his whole self went suddenly weak, for he had with these words guessed why the young musician was here, and what it was she wished to show him. Despite himself he released a low moan of despair: he could not have lost – no, she couldn't be dead –

And Juliana went to a figure clad in chain-mail who lay face-down, and gently turned the corpse over to reveal that face that Merlin had dreaded seeing here: that of a girl, a dark-haired girl who in death still resembled Merlin as she had in life – Ganieda, his half-sister.

He felt sick, and fought down the wave of nausea that leapt up his throat; he felt dizzy, and fell to his knees beside her, his hands clutching at those of the corpse, at her hair, at her cold pale cheeks; and betwixt these cheeks there was a faint smile that gave the appearance of mere sleep. Her eyes were open and staring, but Juliana quickly leaned over and brushed them closed.

This time he clasped her hand, for he felt weak without the support of another. This death that should have so struck his heart fell upon him as another dull blow: all of what he had known and loved had fallen before him like the curtain on a play, darkening and covering everything, and leaving him to a bitter reality in which he was not sure he could survive: and he scarcely had the energy to react any more.

'We should take her to the city,' he whispered at length, and Juliana nodded.

'My horse will carry her,' she replied, 'and we can walk.'

Therefore they picked up the corpse, carefully and steadily though both of them were shaking, and went to where Juliana's horse was tethered, a short way from the battlefield; they lifted the body onto the saddle, and then untied the ropes and began the long, slow walk back to Camelot.


	2. Consolations

Gaius didn't say a word to Merlin when the boy stumbled through his door, merely took him in his arms and cried with him. It was a terrible sight, to see the kind old physician in tears; it was a terrible sight, indeed, to return to a Camelot in mourning, as if a dark cloud had been cast over the place.

There were no words to be exchanged, not yet. A profound silence reigned in Camelot: a cloud of it, hovering uncertainly over those turrets that usually seemed so bright and welcoming, and yet now were dull and grey. It could not be denied that this was a somewhat fitting backdrop to the funerals that now had to take place: so many funerals, of knights, of the citizens who had been so determined to fight – of some who should never have lost their lives on the battlefield.

They were buried in a field just beyond Camelot that was turned into a cemetery, and soon it was filled with beautifully inscribed headstones, dotted with little stone crosses – crosses for those men whose bodies could not be identified, men that nobody knew, men unaccounted for: the people whose identity would ever be a mystery, men who would forever lie buried with "Unknown" the only word on their graves.

Merlin did not have eyes for these unknown graves, nor for the majority of the known ones. Every morning he would amble windingly to the one grave that he felt he could not escape: that with the inscription _Ganieda, loyal friend and beloved sister_.

Yet he stood almost absently at it, and though he laid flowers on it, renewing each day the ones that he had placed the day before, he scarcely thought any more about this death that had so afflicted him. No, when the shock of it had worn off, the only thing that came to mind was the man without a headstone here. _Arthur, loyal friend and beloved king_...

* * *

A few days later Camelot was once again stricken by a great blow: a party of knights patrolling the forest between Camelot and Camlann had found the body of another knight, and when they had turned it over, they found it to be that of Sir Gwaine.

His funeral was conducted with great care and much mourning from the people. Sir Gwaine had been not only one of the best knights of the Round Table, but also an excellent friend to many – indeed, a good deal of his drinking-friends from the _Rising Sun_ were at the fore of those paying their respects to this remarkable man. It was well-known in Camelot that among Gwaine's greatest friends was Merlin: the two had perhaps been unlikely friends, but bound by that close bond that comes with an unusual meeting followed by numerous adventures together. Yet when glances turned to this poor boy, dressed as ever in inaptly bright colours yet with a face so miserable it seemed to darken every shade of his apparel, it was widely noticed that Merlin did not seem to show a hint of emotion beyond the expression that had graced his face since his return to Camelot.

The funeral was over, and the people were snaking back into the city; among the people there walked Guinevere, a remarkable sight amongst the commoners, reduced to their level by the sad unity that bound all of the citizens, peasants and nobles alike, and at her side was Gaius, perhaps her most valuable guide in these times, and one of her greatest friends.

'I worry about Merlin,' she whispered to him, as they entered the city by its western gate.

Gaius was aroused from his thoughts by this address; he acknowledged the monarch with a respectful nod – he did not trust himself to bow, for though it did not much occur to him when so many other things filled his turbulent mind, he knew that he was getting old – and then said: 'As do I, my lady.'

'I want to say that I understand what so grieves him,' Guinevere said: and tears came to her eyes as she recalled her own terrible sadness at the passing of Arthur – her husband! 'Yet I do not believe that any other can truly know what thoughts traverse his mind. He and Arthur were friends,' and she left off here, leaving unsaid what she could scarcely put into words.

* * *

A long time ago now, it seemed, Merlin had offered an awkward handshake through the armhole of a wooden pillory to a pretty maid with a basket and a tattered yellow dress. Hard to believe, then, that these two would come to be so prominent in the history of Camelot, and yet, though one became a Queen and the other a humble servant, retain a close friendship that had seen them through thick and thin. They might have been Queen Guinevere and, as of very recently, Sir Merlin, but to all who knew them well they were but Gwen and Merlin, and that did not change even as everything else seemed to alter following the great and terrible battle.

Gwen and Merlin were friends, and now, with the King's death, if anything, they were drawn closer. Gwen relied on Merlin's advice and support to keep up her duties as the sole monarch of Camelot. Merlin relied on that charming smile, that relentless kindness just to get him through the day. And it was perhaps due to this friendship chiefly, above everything else that had happened, that led Gwen to say one day that she would, without any discussion or further thought, lift the ban on magic that had, according to some, crippled Albion for the past thirty years or so.

The announcement would be made in a few days' time, once all concerning the dead from the battle had been dealt with and cleared up. Merlin and Gaius were both told beforehand of it; it pleased them, of course, but they found themselves unable to react properly, and had to hug Gwen tightly as an expression of their thanks, for their tongues were quite tied. This decision would be a major event, perhaps, in Camelot's history: yet so soon after the Battle of Camlann, everything, no matter how significant, seemed far overshadowed, and a little superficial. Perhaps nothing would have a great deal of significance anymore. It was hard to tell, and not one of the citizens of Camelot wished at that time to look to the future.


End file.
